Chapter Six
Darcy tugged on a glove and glanced outside. The days were so short now that he felt he was always in the dark.
He had overslept. He never overslept, but he had been thinking of Elizabeth and unable to find rest until the early hours of the morning.
Darcy had instructed Anders to wait for his call before preparing the carriage, but he had fully intended to rise before dawn, something his coachman knew.
However, as no one had come to wake him, Anders had clearly taken him at his word.
Darcy tapped his foot, wondering what could possibly be taking so long.
At last he heard the crunching of the gravel that foretold the approach of his conveyance. He peered out of the sidelight, expecting to see his gleaming black coach with the Darcy crest upon it.
Instead, it was a glossy white-and-gold chaise with no crest, but a great deal of decorative painting along the sides.
Darcy knew that coach.
He pulled harder on his glove, turned on his heel, and walked directly to the back of the house.
“Anders!” he called as he approached the stables. “Good God, man, are you not ready yet?”
The coachman popped his head up from a stall and winced.
“What?” Darcy demanded.
“Horatio has lost a shoe.”
Darcy cursed under his breath. Disaster upon disaster. “How is that possible?”
“The boys have been riding the horses to exercise them, sir. Unfortunately, one of them must have put Horatio up yesterday without realising.”
This was shocking negligence on the part of Bingley’s grooms. Darcy would have to speak to his friend about it. He glanced back at the house. Perhaps he could still leave today and write Bingley a letter.
“Miss Bingley has arrived, Anders. Please, tell me that we have enough healthy horseflesh to make our departure.”
Anders straightened to his full height, which was still nearly a half-foot shorter than Darcy. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. “The mare is still favouring her leg a bit, sir.”
“She was fine yesterday,” he said, frustrated.
“You can check on her if you like, Mr. Darcy,” Anders said.
Darcy almost took Anders at his word, but fortunately soon thought better of it. Satisfying his pique was not worth insulting the best coachman he had ever employed. “Are you certain?”
Anders nodded. “She was not in a good way this morning, and now with Horatio needing a shoe . . . you could ride, I suppose, but it’d be a rather cold journey.”
It was a sign of how little Darcy wanted to see Caroline Bingley that he gave serious consideration to that notion. There were six good hours of light for riding each day. It would take him three days. Maybe a bit more. He had good gloves, a heavy coat, and stout boots.
Ultimately, his good sense won out. He could not ride all the way to Derbyshire in December. This was a nightmare. How could Miss Bingley have possibly known that he would still be here? And how had she arrived from the north so quickly?
He hung his head and reminded himself not to be conceited.
Miss Bingley was not here for him. There was no way she could have known his departure had been delayed.
No, she had refused to attend the wedding and was now here to make demands of her brother and attempt to cow her new sister.
No doubt she had worn out her welcome with the Hursts.
“This is not happening,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his head hard enough that his scalp protested. He let his hand fall.
Anders was looking everywhere but at him.
Darcy had never known his coachman to behave in such a way, but then Anders always took such excellent care of the horses that Darcy could not recall the last time there had been one such event, let alone two.
Darcy did not blame him—it was simply bad luck.
But Anders would feel it was his responsibility.
Darcy had only wished to leave Elizabeth Bennet’s company before she was forced to inform her sister or Bingley that she was uncomfortable in his presence.
She had been pleasant enough at the wedding breakfast, but she could not want him here.
The honourable thing to do would be to leave her in peace.
The white coach belonged to Mrs. Hurst but was only large enough for two.
Darcy wondered if Mrs. Hurst was here as well or if Miss Bingley had come with a companion instead.
He hoped the latter. Mrs. Hurst was innocuous on her own, but when she was with her younger sister, she took on all of Miss Bingley’s least attractive qualities.
And the way she played with her bracelets, making them clink one against the other .
. . Most would be able to ignore it, but once Darcy had noticed, the sound drowned out everything else.
It was all he could do not to wrest them from her wrist and fling them out the window.
Darcy squeezed his eyes shut. His irritation was not under good regulation. “See that Horatio has a shoe today,” he told Anders brusquely. “We are leaving tomorrow morning, even if I have to pull the carriage myself.”
Anders’s lips twitched, and Darcy would not stay to listen to his driver laugh at him. He turned, the skirt of his greatcoat swirling out behind him, and returned to the house.
Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield just as a small white carriage was being driven around to the stables. How curious. She had not expected that anyone else would be visiting for at least the first week after the wedding.
“Hello, Carstairs,” she said as she entered the hall. “Shall we have snow soon, do you think?”
“Good day, Miss Bennet,” said the butler. “Might just be cold enough for that.”
“Has someone else arrived?” she asked pleasantly. “I thought I saw a coach as I drove up.”
Carstairs frowned. “Miss Bingley has come.”
Elizabeth stood still for a moment. “But she did not attend the wedding.”
“As you say, Miss.”
“Is she here to cause trouble?” Elizabeth’s question was spoken as much to herself as it was to Carstairs, but the butler answered anyway.
“I could not say.”
“You will not say. You could say a great deal.”
Carstairs struggled not to smile, and Elizabeth congratulated herself. Mr. Hill was not half so stoic as Mr. Carstairs. “Your room has been prepared, and Mrs. Bingley has asked that you await her there.”
“Poor Jane,” Elizabeth said. “Battle lines drawn already. Have you heard anything from the Langstons?” she asked. Mr. Carstairs had been a fixture at Netherfield since she and Jane had been little girls, visiting the Langstons to play with Julia and Sophia.
“Miss Langston is lately married, just like Miss Bennet. Miss Sophia continues to enjoy the season.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I shall have to write to her. She has become a terrible correspondent this past year, no doubt caught up in the joys of town.”
They heard a high-pitched exclamation from the family wing.
Carstairs glanced upstairs at the sound. “If you do not mind my saying, Miss Bennet, it is good that you are here.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Jane is firm when she knows herself to be in the right. You have no cause for distress on that point. But if it comes to it, I shall thwart Miss Bingley so that Jane will not have to.”
“As I said, Miss Bennet,” the butler replied, “your presence is fortuitous.”
Elizabeth nodded at him and then at Rebecca Kerr, who led the way to her chambers.
They heard Miss Bingley before they saw her, her demands echoing down the hall. Kerr stood to the side, her eyes darting about in search of a safe place to land.
“What do you mean I cannot enter? This has always been my room.”
“For the entire two months of your stay a year ago?” Elizabeth inquired cheerfully.
Miss Bingley’s head swung in Elizabeth’s direction. “What are you doing here?”
“Settling into my rooms, it seems,” Elizabeth replied, gliding past.
“These were my chambers first,” Miss Bingley insisted, attempting to enter. The footman who was carrying Elizabeth’s trunk brushed past Mr. Bingley’s sister, pausing in the doorway as he waited for instructions.
“Move, you big oaf!” Miss Bingley sputtered. “How dare you! Get out of my way or I will have you sent off! What is your name?”
Roberts straightened and turned in one motion, requiring Miss Bingley to duck so as not to be struck by the trunk he carried on his shoulder.
“My name is Roberts, madam,” the man said with a little nod of the head in place of a bow. “I was footman here last year, when you were mistress.”
Miss Bingley’s cheeks reddened at the reminder that she was the mistress no longer. “I insist that you put that trunk down this instant!” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “These are my rooms!”
“Sorry, Miss Bingley. Mrs. Bingley says that Miss Bennet’s trunk is to be taken here, to Miss Bennet’s rooms.”
The red in Miss Bingley’s cheeks spread to the rest of her face.
“Do you mind?” Elizabeth inquired as sweetly as possible after Roberts placed her trunk on the floor and Kerr scurried past Miss Bingley and into the room to open it. “I would prefer some privacy.”
“Do not bother unpacking, Miss Eliza, for my brother will insist that I be given my due.”
“I do not doubt that in the slightest, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said lightly, “and it is Miss Bennet now. I shall see you at dinner, if our brother and sister can be persuaded to come downstairs for it.”
The sight of Miss Bingley’s horrified expression as Roberts closed the door behind him had Elizabeth laughing as she had not done in months. Kerr finally had to laugh with her.
“That was marvellous,” Elizabeth declared, feeling refreshed.
She wandered to one of the windows, which overlooked the woods.
Just beyond, she knew, was a glade and the large pond that many of the neighbourhood children had played in as children.
No wonder Miss Bingley liked these rooms. The views were lovely.
Had she looked out these windows and dreamed of becoming mistress to her own estate one day?